


Never More Than Two Drinks Away

by Wallwalker



Series: Our Haven [11]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Disabled Character, Community: fic_promptly, F/M, PTSD, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallwalker/pseuds/Wallwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrons assumed Barret was a big drinker. Tifa knew otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never More Than Two Drinks Away

The patrons all assumed that Barret was a big drinker.

No surprise, Tifa thought. He was big and loud and usually angry, so naturally people thought he'd had a few too many. Besides, whenever he wasn't busy with something else he'd sit at the bar, beer glass in hand, taking a few drinks now and then. The anger he usually directed toward the Shinra always simmered just below the surface, unless Marlene was around to call him a grumpy bear and make him smile. Nobody wanted to get too close to a drunk, angry man with a gun for an arm.

If they had gotten closer, they would've noticed that there was never any booze in what he drank. Usually it was the rotgut sodas that they made in Sector 4, because it was the best they could get and tasted better than the local water supply. Sometimes, when she could get it, he'd enjoy some real cider from the orchards outside of town, but never anything with even a trace of alcohol.

It wasn't any of her business, and she knew she should let it be, but it still puzzled her - his stubborn refusal was loud and frequent, even when she hadn't even asked. But he never made fun of anyone else for drinking, either. When Wedge had first had a few drinks, Barret had been the one to help him into the alley with the cleanest trash bins; he'd even given him a few tips on how to stave off the inevitable hangover, all advice that Tifa had heard before. There was no jeering or disgust in it, just sympathy (and maybe some irritation when Wedge missed one of the bins.)

He never judged anybody else, but Tifa thought that there was something else going on, something he wouldn't talk about. What most of the patrons thought was anger in his eyes was actually sadness; she'd known him long enough to know the difference. When he was angry he clenched his fists, couldn't sit still; when he was sad he just stared, holding on to whatever he could find as hard as he could.

She had kept her mouth shut until one particularly long night, after a particularly nasty shift. The patrons had been rowdy, and not in the good way. Tifa didn't usually have to kick anyone out, but she'd sent a few home that night - hopefully they'd had a home to go to, but she couldn't think about that when they were threatening the guys around them with brass knuckles.

They'd had a lot of clean-up to do. Barret had been in charge of taking out the trash, while Tifa finished wiping up. Jessie and the guys had gone back with Marlene, because Barret had insisted it was his turn to help out. He'd come back for the last time grunting, stretching his good arm. "Hell of a night," he'd grunted, then hissed through his teeth as he rotated his arm. She should've offered to help, she thought with a pang of guilt - but then, he was the one who'd offered in the first place. "Here's hoping that tomorrow's not gonna be so bad, huh?"

"It won't be," she said. "I have a feeling." She'd overheard some of the chatter that night - something about a big gang fight going down in Sector 4. Most likely they'd head over there on the trains and watch from a safe distance.

"Well, you're prob'bly right. You're good at that." He looked around the bar a bit longer, then stopped to stare at something Tifa couldn't see. "Shit," he said. "You gotta be kidding me."

"What's wrong?" Tifa asked, mentally steeling herself. If someone had gotten sick under one of the bolted tables again...

He walked over, picking up a bottle and holding it up. The lid hadn't even been taken off. "Look at this," he said, holding it up so that she could see the label. "This is the good stuff, right? Imported from halfway 'round the world."

She peered at it, trying to remember. She'd gotten it from one of her contacts in Wall Market, a man very good at getting shipments from outside of Midgar without having them pass through customs. She thought she remembered the crate of it. It hadn't been too popular once the novelty had worn off; too strong, most of the patrons had said. "It was black-market booze," she admitted. "I knew it was safe, though. It checked out."

"Damn right it did. This's one of the best brews out there." He shook his head, putting it down on the bar, his hand still curled tightly around it. "The hell is wrong with these people? Pay good money for a really good drink, then not even touch it."

She looked up at him, at the distant look in his eyes. "You sound like you've had it before," she said.

He sighed, and she could hear him mutter something under his breath. "Yeah," he said, a little louder. "Long time ago."

She cleared her throat. "Well, my offer still stands. If you want one -"

"No," he answered, a little too quickly, then relaxed. He laughed, a short bitter laugh. "Guess it must look weird, huh?"

"No weirder than a lot of other things I've seen," she said, and he smiled a little more at that. "I'm sorry, I know it's not something I should be worried about. I just wondered."

"Naw, don't apologize. I know you ain't offering out of spite or whatever. I didn't wanna get all cranky about it, but... I ain't gonna do it. Not anymore."

"All right," she said, blushing a bit - why had she been so worried about it? She had no right to be. "I'll take this back."

"Yeah... that'd be good. Thanks."

She walked back quickly, put the bottle back in her private icebox. She wasn't gonna serve it, since it had been out for a while; beer tasted better if it stayed cold. Still, if she ever wanted to try it, it wasn't going to hurt her or anything.

Barret looked up at her when she walked back. "Last time I had a drink of that beer," he said, his voice a little deeper and quieter than it had been before, "it was with an old friend I ain't seen in years, on the porch of an old house that ain't there no more."

She walked over to him. "You don't have to talk about it, Barret. I was out of line -"

"No, I wanna say it. You're one of the few people I can stay stuff like this two, an' I tried to push you away, and that ain't right." He took another deep breath. "Yeah, I had a few drinks back then. And a few more after. Times were tough, you know." He looked down at his gun-arm, and shook his head. "Thing is, when I get a drink or two in me, I end up seein' those things again. And when I think about then, and then look at what's going on now, it's just tough to handle. Easier to just stay dry, you see what I mean?"

Tifa nodded. She'd never been much of a drinker - a few sips of wine when she or one of her friends could smuggle it out of their homes, and that was about it. She could hold a few drinks when she wanted to, but didn't care for it. But she could understand not wanting to think about some of those days. "It's easier not to remind yourself."

"Yeah." He stood up, pushing himself away from the bar. "And there's always something reminding you anyway." He picked up his mug of soda and took one last drink. "Anyways, we ought get back. They others have to be tired about now."

"Let's hope Marlene's tired too."

"Ha!" He gave her a real smile at that one. "Yeah, we don't need her sneaking around no more."

Tifa reached for his arm, and he let her take it. "I'm sorry about being nosy," she said.

"...yeah, it's okay. I'm sorry I tried to push you away. Guess we both messed up. We'd better try to remember what we did wrong an' deal with it, right?"

"Yeah," she answered with a nod. "Agreed."

They shut the lights off and walked out, leaving the bar cold and empty behind them. It seemed like they'd left some of the tension back there, though, because Barret's walk looked more like a walk, and less like a resigned trudge, than she'd seen from him before.

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by [Two Drink Minimum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0qEAfd9cZqg) by Chris Cornell.


End file.
